Antithetic Parallelism
by Jilly-chan
Summary: Antithetic adjective 1. mutually opposed or incompatible, 2. exactly opposite, 3. Nichol & Trowa


Antithetic Parallelism  
  
by Jillian Storm  
  
(Disclaimer: Nichol made me write this, or he'd stop being my muse. And I like Nichol. So, here it is.)  
  
"Sometimes I shouldn't say words." Xander, from Buffy  
  
The confusion started when the sales clerk noticed that both shadows hovering over the engagement rings belonged to men. She tried to smile comfortably as the slender one, who was closer to her, looked up and half-smiled from behind reddish-brown hair. Sales on jewelry, even wedding rings, were significantly dropping and the urgency of her commission added a nervous edge to her chipper greeting, 'Can I help you gentlemen find anything in particular?'   
  
'We're just looking.'   
  
'Barton just can't get his act together and pick it out.' The other man stopped from his peering in order to muscle his way between the showcase and his more polite companion. More broad, and with dark, wiry hair, he wore a worn, orange and brown flannel that betrayed the lack of a feminine influence. Also a stark contrast to the tasteful, tie-less suit set Barton had dressed in.   
  
'Are you sure it wasn't this one? It's flashy, and I think the price range is about right.'   
  
'That's a Cubic Zirconia, sir. Very good choice. Would you like me to take it out for you?' She would have sold him a plastic stone Elmer glued on a Crackerjack ring. It was past the fifteenth and this couple had more potential to buy than anyone else who'd crossed the threshold that month.  
  
'You don't have to bother.' Barton held out his hand to stop her. Getting a good look at his slim, but definitely knuckled and male fingers, she filed through her options to see if they might be convinced for something a price range higher. Of course, under a reasonable payment option. 'C'mon, Nichol,' Barton began to tug on his partner's sleeve, curling his fingers into the flannel and looking at her a bit nervously, 'I don't see why you care so much about this.'  
  
'Because I don't like being outdone.' Nichol's dark brow creased, tucking his hands into his jean pockets and trapping Barton's hand as he bent over the glass case once more. The clerk tried to interpret Nichol's brief saucy smile directed at her.  
  
'If you like the best, sir, perhaps you would be interested in the white gold set we have right over here. It's quite alternative, in the spirit of our diverse generation and all.'   
  
'What do you think, Trowa? Does that sound like a possibility?' Nichol glanced upward waiting for guidance.  
  
'Good grief,' The slender man pressed his free palm against his forehead as if an impromptu taking of his temperature, 'You have no idea what it sounds like . . .'  
  
She watched in confusion as Trowa pulled his hand free and after giving her a strangely dismissive smile, walked out the door. Nichol watched, his eyebrow arched at the unexpected coldness.  
  
Her heart sunk as she lost another customer, but repairing the romantic tension between them seemed an opportunity for her to do good for someone else, 'Go after him. You shouldn't fight during such an important time in your relationship.'  
  
'Excuse me?' The alarm radiating from Nichol was strong enough that she could feel the desert heat rippling from his reddening neck and ears.  
  
'Go after him.' She half-smiled, 'The rings will still be here when you get back. Although, I think the white gold would look fantastic with those green eyes of his.'  
  
She watched as his skin turned from scarlet to a slimy, fish scale pale, blue-green. Nichol's lips wobbled without acquiring any additional oxygen, and she wondered if he would pass out or grow gills first, 'I'm sorry,' she apologized over the silence, 'You were just so open about it, I didn't think you'd mind if I . . .'  
  
'Goodbye,' He wheezed and as if suddenly remembering he also had legs, Nichol managed to walk out into the main hallway of the mall without significantly stumbling.   
  
She started to rub Nichol's fingerprints from the glass, now and again smiling to herself about their bashfulness, She continued to plot what strategy she might use on those two when they reconciled their differences until her next customer came.  
  
***  
  
Nichol caught up with Trowa at the penny fountain, bright daylight coming from the glass ceiling and making brilliant reflections off the water and the collection of coins settled at the bottom. He stopped short when he saw the vibration of Trowa's arms rippling under the silver-grey sleeves of his jacket.   
  
'You're not . . . laughing, are you?' Nichol accused, crossing his arms and surprised that after Trowa's quick exit that he himself was forced to take the defensive.  
  
'She thought . . .' Trowa couldn't finish, but didn't laugh aloud either under sounds of the systematic spray and fall of the water. He braced one leg against the concrete edge of the fountain.  
  
Snorting, Nichol added crassly, 'You should have heard the comments she made *after* you left, you cute pansy you. She couldn't assume you were simply there to help me find a ring for my fiancee or something . . ."  
  
"Fiancee, yeah, whatever," Trowa interrupted wryly, 'You were the one who kept invading my personal space.'  
  
'Well, if you would move over next time,' Nichol huffed out the breath he had been holding since he left the jewelry store. He knew quite certainly he could never go back in there either. Sales girl accounted for or not.   
  
'And what girl would let you out on an engagement ring date wearing that, I wonder?' Trowa pulled at his chin, setting his foot down and starting toward the exit closest to where they had parked.  
  
Nichol glanced down, then growled as he followed, 'Apparently, she thought *you* liked me in it, pretty boy.'   
  
'Hey, it's not everyday you and I get thrown together like this,' Trowa called over his shoulder, 'Think you'd let me play dress up with you?'  
  
'Mention this ever, Barton, and die.'  
  
  
  
*** 


End file.
